Improbable
by iFreak
Summary: The Torchwood team need to Retcon Sherlock and John before they find out too much.  Trouble is, that's not going to be easy with an ex-amry doctor, the world's only consulting detective and his older brother to contend with.
1. On The Case

"Someone's done a search on Torchwood, Jack," Gwen announced, leaning back in her chair with a frown. Jack moved across to stand at her shoulder, giving a shrug.

"People always search for us – no-one ever finds anything," he said dismissively, blue eyes passing over the screen nonetheless. He frowned, bending closer. He tapped at a few keys, looking back at the screen and then straightened up with a huff. "Okay, so these guys _really_ want to find us," the Captain allowed. "Run a search on them, Gwen – we'll have to restrict their access and re-do the security on any London records – I think there are still some old police reports on One floating around."

"There are," Gwen confirmed, making no move to use the keyboard despite Jack's order. "They've got them."

"_What_?" Jack's face was priceless; if the situation hadn't been so serious she'd have laughed but somehow, information about their organisation had leaked into unknown hands and lord knew what would happen as a result. "How?" He was as indignant as he was surprised and the man straightened, letting out a frustrated sigh. "One was never any good – sloppy, you see? Run a search on them, Gwen, _now_. We'll have to get down there – Retcon them."

He'd hurried away before Gwen could say anything, heading to his office and contacting Ianto with his headpiece. Gwen turned back to her screen and hit a few keys, running the trace and watching intently as the programme picked the information apart. It was taking a little longer than usual and the woman was growing impatient when it beeped and flashed up with a message; _no record found_.

"Wha-? Jack! I think you need to see this," she called, typing in a command for the search to run a second time. This one didn't last as long and by the time Jack had descended from his office the screen was flashing again; _no record found_.

Jack blinked. "Impossible," he said, leaning over to run it himself. "There's always a record – they were _searching_ for us, there has to be some sort of trace." But again the computer yielded nothing and Jack scowled. "We'll have to do it the hard way," he muttered, stalking over to a different computer and typing furiously at the pad. He left the thing scrolling through endless bytes of information to fetch a small box Gwen had never seen before, plugging the thing in.

"What's that?" she asked, walking over and peering at it interestedly.

"A Tracker," Jack replied distractedly, typing away again and synchronising the two with a complicated-looking keycode. "Doesn't get invented here for another two hundred years or so, but this one's slightly different – comes from a parallel universe, so it's got a wider scope. It'll take longer but it'll give us more definite data. I'd use the other one but if these people can block our trace they might be expecting it; they won't have a clue about this."

Ianto arrived as the scan was still running, looking as unharried as ever and for all the world as though he didn't mind being interrupted during his first day off in what Gwen guessed was about three years. "Coffee?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No time," Jack said as the Tracker beeped. He disconnected the two and stuffed the object in a pocket, jerking his head at Gwen. "Come on."

He made for the door, Gwen on his heels; Ianto was already on his way out, twirling the keys of the SUV in his fingers. "Where're we headed?"

"London."

Ianto tried not to smile; _home_.

* * *

><p>John Watson glanced up, irritated, as Sherlock's phone vibrated again. "Sherlock-" he began firmly, but his flatmate cut him off with a quick screech of particularly unpleasant notes from the violin.<p>

"No," the detective replied petulantly. "If it was really important he'd get my attention somehow. No point in bothering with a whole phone call."

"But that's the sixth time he's rung in..." Doctor Watson craned his neck to check the time on the kitchen clock. "Nine minutes. It must be something important – he might have a case."

"I don't want his cases," Sherlock retorted with a scowl, despite having moaned for the last week and a half that he'd sacrifice his right hand for a decent murder. Criminals, he'd said, were not what they used to be. The phone had stopped vibrating and Sherlock's eyes slid shut on the world, his fingers moving along the strings of his violin though he didn't move to use the bow. Evidently he was playing something only he could hear, and John turned back to his blog when his own phone sounded; a text message.

He opened it, not surprised to find that it was from the very man trying to get hold of Sherlock.

_Tell him to be careful. You're being watched._

_-Mycroft_

"Sherlock-"

"I don't care, John," Sherlock told him dismissively. "Text him back and tell him, would you? Only he might listen if it comes from you."

"Tell him yourself," John retorted with a scowl. "And I think this might interest you – he says we're being watched."

"Really?" Sherlock intoned, ever-bored. "No surprises there, John; that man's been watching me since the day I was born, or hadn't you noticed the cameras?"

"No, I-wait, what cameras?" The Doctor's expression was one of perfect surprise though it slowly mixed in with horror. "Cameras? Here? In 221b?"

"Don't be so simple, John," Sherlock scolded with an irritated sigh. "The cameras are outside – on the building opposite and the cafe downstairs. He only has bugs in here."

"Bugs?" John repeated, still looking quite startled. "Why don't you just get rid of them?"

"He puts them back," Sherlock said simply. "Besides, I like being able to insult him whenever I please. Fat git."

John's phoned beeped again and he looked down t it, opening the message.

_It's a safety precaution, Dr Watson; you know what he's like. Tell him it's not me this time, it's Torchwood. They're coming and there's little I can do to stop them, I'm afraid. _

_-Mycroft_

"Sherlock, they're coming," John informed his flatmate dutifully.

"Who?"

"Torchwood."


	2. A Waiting Game

"Bloody London," Gwen muttered, glaring out of the window at the traffic that surrounded them. The sound penetrated even the glass of the SUV's windows, the constant drone of life that they found themselves right in the middle of, and she didn't like it one bit. Cardiff was at least peaceful, not counting the alien lifeforms that took it upon themselves to run rampant through it.

"Aww, lighten up Gwen," Jack grinned from the front, turning to grin over his shoulder as Ianto pushed button to change the traffic lights up ahead. "Breathe that city air!" He reached for the dials that controlled the windows and wound Gwen's down, much to her annoyance.

Brown hair whipping her face, Gwen narrowed her eyes and closed the window, looking more than unimpressed. "We've been driving for almost four hours now, Jack, and we don't have a clue where these people are."

"Yeah, well," Jack muttered, turning around to sit properly and tapping away at the Tracker again. "Someone's helping them – our signal keeps getting blocked, and then whenever I get close _their _signal gets diverted."

"Must be someone high up, then," Ianto commented, twiddling the wheel as they undertook a roundabout, eyes skimming over signs and street names. They were driving rather aimlessly seeing as Jack couldn't find a fixed point at which to start their search and it was incredibly frustrating to repeatedly get so close only to be batted away at the last minute. "Wonder what they want."

* * *

><p>Something in the kitchen exploded, prompting John to wince into his cup of tea. Sherlock had seemed perfectly innocent not ten minutes ago when John had gone out to make the drink, but thinking back, the detective <em>had<em> made a point of shielding that far surface from view while he did so. With a short sigh, Johns set the still-full cup on the coffee table and got to his feet, edging out into the kitchen, preparing himself for the worst.

"Sherlock?" He gave the room a once over as his flatmate spun around, expression the picture of innocence.

"Yes John?"

"What're you hiding?" John's voice was more tired than demanding; they'd been through this scenario too many times for it to be a surprise anymore. At least there were no blood splatters up the wall; that never boded well.

"Nothing, John," Sherlock replied chirpily, his smile overly bright as he forced it onto the doctor. "Did you text Mycroft back? Tell him I'm not going anywhere?"

"No," John said testily, eyes narrowing. "Tell him yourself."

Sherlock sighed and shook his head, curls flopping over his face until the man swept an impatient hand through them. "I already _told_ you that he won't listen if I tell him. _I_ tell him to piss off all the time. Look – give me your phone and I'll do it."

"No!" John said quickly, his hand moving instantly to cover his pocket protectively. "I'm not having the British government thinking I've told him to piss off."

"Why do you even care?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes. "He's just being nosy, he-"

"He's offering to _help_ us," John retorted, frustrated. "You and bloody Torchwood, why couldn't you just give it a rest?"

"_Because_, John," Sherlock said quickly, voice deepening as he stepped forwards, expression intense. "All their files are secret, they're hidden – they barely even have a trail to follow and the _only_ time there's any trace of them it's to do with weird crimes. The ones that should be _my_ cases. But I can't find them, because they're _impossible_ to trace, even with half of Mycroft's passwords I can barely get-"

Something loud exploded on the counter behind the detective and both men winced, Sherlock spinning to gape at what used to be his experiment and now resembled a melted pile of metal and a few flames flickering along the worktop. "Now look what you've done!" Sherlock cried, gesturing at the mess as John hastily threw a glass of water over the small fire.

"Sherlock! That was Mrs Hudson's saucepan!" John knew this because all of theirs had had to be replaced by cheap versions that didn't matter so much when they were destroyed.

Sherlock shrugged indifferently. "She wasn't using it," he said, striding away and leaving John to sort out the mess in the kitchen. He fell onto the sofa with a long-suffering sigh and stared blankly up at the ceiling. "If they're coming, why aren't they here?" he said after a long moment of silence, during which John had tried fruitlessly to carve the metal from the work surface. "_Why_, John?"

"Maybe Mycroft was wrong?"

The detective laughed humourlessly, giving no other reply. John shrugged. "Maybe they don't really care?"

Sherlock laughed again, this time with a meaner lilt to it. "If they're that secretive they'll want to know why someone was searching them," he said with relish, clearly anticipating the arrival of a new adventure. "They'll come after them, probably with the intention of silencing them. This is an organisation that people obviously aren't supposed to know about."

And naturally that meant that Sherlock would destroy everything in sight in order to find out as much as possible about said organisation. John sank into his armchair with a sigh to match Sherlock's, shaking his head. "Would it kill you to live a quiet life for a _week_?" he questioned, exasperated.

"Probably."

* * *

><p>"Alright, we have a heading!" Jack called out, far louder than necessary considering that the whole team were sitting within three feet of each other. He lifted the Tracker with a smirk and shook it in Ianto's face. "Not far from here, apparently."<p>

"C'mon then – where is it?" Gwen asked impatiently, leaning forward to peer at the Tracker with interest.

"Hang on, it's gone all-" Jack spent a few moments frowning at the device, punching a number of buttons while cursing beneath his breath before grinning again. "Baker Street," he announced triumphantly, setting the Tracker aside now that it had, finally, fulfilled its use.

"That's it?" Ianto asked, glancing over. "Just the street name?"

"Nope," Jack said, still grinning; evidently the seriousness of the situation was rather lost on the captain. "We've got an address. 221b Baker Street."


	3. Unstoppable Forces

John thought that maybe, by some stroke of luck, Sherlock might have fallen asleep. The detective was still on the sofa, his breathing very calm, and his eyes were closed. If the body had belonged to anyone else the doctor would have sworn that they were sleeping but Sherlock Holmes was like a crocodile in the way he rested and there was no telling if he was just thinking or actually asleep. As such, John thought it for the best that he didn't phone Mycroft just now, because Sherlock would be furious if he heard. The truth was, though, that John was worried. He was worried about Torchwood, about the fact that they were coming for them. It might excite Sherlock but John didn't like it at all; he didn't like prodding danger with sticks to make it bite.

He was sitting and worrying to himself when the deep drone of an engine sounded on the street outside. His heart skipped and Sherlock's eyes were open at once, focused on the ceiling as thin lips curled. "They're here," he said, excitement making his voice thick. "Large vehicle, some sort of SUV, armoured. Lots of equipment inside. Three of them - two men and a woman. They've been driving a while, several hours. Almost five, I think. No - four." Sherlock's deductions were largely ignored by John, who had risen to peer out of the window, and in any case the detective was talking to himself. Sometimes John suspected that Sherlock just liked the sound of his own voice.

There were indeed two men and a woman and the tall one with the long coat looked up and caught John's eye. The doctor backed away from the window in a flash. "Sherlock he saw me," he said quickly, turning to face the man on the sofa. From the relaxed posture of him anyone would swear that the secret organisation that had just arrived at Sherlock's doorstep with every intention of killing them both didn't bother him in the slightest. In all honesty, John thought, it probably didn't.

"Doesn't matter," Sherlock told him idly. John was surprised he'd even been graced with a response and he looked towards the door as a knock sounded downstairs. "They aren't here to kill us," the man observed from the sofa, though how he'd worked that out John didn't have a clue.

The sound of Mrs Hudson opening the door was loud in the silent flat and John waited with held breath as the voices spoke. After a minute or so there were footsteps on the stairs and another knock. Sherlock deigned to get off the sofa, finally, straightening up and somehow managing to look as impeccably dressed as he had been before lying down. He jerked his head at John to open the door, which the man did so without question, the calm of the soldier suddenly taking over.

Standing in the doorway were three people. The man in front stood an inch or so taller than Sherlock and he was clearly the leader of the small group. He was dressed like something out of a war film but nothing about him spoke of old-fashioned. Sherlock's eyes moved once over the man and he saw that the coat was an original, and his clothes were official issue. Several other things came to light but not many of them were very important and Sherlock was frustrated at how little he could glean. Blue eyes passed over the other two present; the woman was easy to read and as his eyes moved from the shoes to the face of the second man Sherlock noted that he was too. Upon searching the face, Sherlock looked momentarily surprised.

"Ianto?"

"_Sherlock_?"

"You two know each other?" John and the man in the coat asked at the same time.

"In a manner of speaking," Sherlock said, recovering from the surprise first. "So...Torchwood. Is this it?" He sounded disappointed, and the guy in front arched an eyebrow.

"Don't underestimate us," he advised.

"I wasn't going to. You're carrying at least three different guns, none of which are standard issue, though your clothes are, so you didn't get them from the same place. You served, once, but Torchwood is separate from that, isn't it? You aren't government, you aren't police, either - this is an ex-police officer right here." At that Sherlock looked over the dark haired woman, who had fixed him with a steady gaze. "She and Ianto are carrying weapons, but those are more normal. You don't trust that Ianto can shoot well - good call; he can't - but you aren't here to shoot us, it's just a precaution," Sherlock said confidently, eyes moving once more over the three gathered. He opened his mouth to continue but the man in front had a louder voice.

"You have a gun," he pointed out, and Sherlock's lips curled.

"I do," he agreed and John turned to glare at the detective. Indeed, he could see the shape of his revolver in the back of Sherlock's waistband. How on earth he'd managed to comfortably lie on that John would never know.

There was a tense silence for a few moments before the man in front jerked his head, as though deciding on something he'd been internally arguing about. "I'm Jack," he introduced himself. "That's Gwen. You know Ianto. I think the five of us need to talk."

"Oh, I think we do," Sherlock nodded grimly. John wondered if Torchwood was quite aware of what it had gotten itself into; they were here to silence them, apparently, but John knew what Sherlock wanted from this. The detective was sour because these people had been given his cases and he wanted them back. The organisation, small as it was, didn't seem the sort to give over so easily and he wondered what, exactly, was going to happen when the unstoppable force of Sherlock met the immovable object of Torchwood. Nothing good, that was for sure.

"Then you won't mind coming with us," Gwen spoke, stepping back a little and nodding in the direction of the stairs. It was clear that they weren't actually being given a choice. Sherlock didn't reply, simply reached to the side to lift his coat and scarf from the hook behind the door. He pulled them on in silence while John stared; Sherlock was out of his mind. He was just going to walk off with these people, wasn't he? Because that was what Sherlock did and never mind the consequences. Never mind that all he had to do was press a button on his phone and Mycroft's men would be here in minutes. No - Sherlock wanted those cases, he wanted answers, and he'd do whatever it took to get them. At present, it wasn't an admirable quality. With a sigh, John pulled his own jacket on and followed Sherlock down the stairs. Gwen was leading them while Ianto and Jack brought up the rear; there was no way they were going to be able to run off.

"Sherlock," he said in a low voice, gaze shifting up and down the deserted street. He glanced at the camera over Speedy's, wondering if Mycroft was watching right now, wondering what he thought of his little brother's antics. He didn't know if the older Holmes had any authority over Torchwood but he found himself hoping so as he was ushered into the SUV while Jack removed the gun from Sherlock's possession.

The detective didn't reply to the unspoken warning from John and he folded himself onto the seat beside the doctor. Gwen clambered in and as she shut the door there was the unmistakable click of a very secure lock. They were definitely trapped now. The engine thrummed into life beneath them, the silence of all five voices heavy in the air, and John watched Baker Street slip away behind him, hoping he'd get he chance to see it again one day.

Living with Sherlock ought to have its own insurance policy.


	4. Immovable Objects

They drove for a long time, crossing streets John had never seen before, driving through bits of London he hadn't known existed. He didn't have a clue where they were when the SUV finally came to a halt, though he knew that Sherlock would be able to point the place out on a map if anyone gave him the chance, and he didn't like feeling so unprepared. He'd been ready for a day at home; he didn't have to be at the surgery for a few days and he'd been quite enjoying the time to relax. As such he was wearing old jeans and a jumper that was too thin for the weather as well as his least favourite coat; he'd just grabbed whichever had been within reach.

Sherlock, of course, looked just about ready for anything and John hated him for it. The detective looked distinctly unruffled despite lying across the sofa for a few hours and having a gun wrested from him by a man who was obviously used to a violent lifestyle and had most definitely served at some point in his past; John recognised the type a mile off. Looking at Sherlock, you'd never believe that his life was in mortal danger. You'd think he was out buying groceries if you didn't know him (if you did know him you'd know that Sherlock would never be caught dead buying groceries; John always had to do that).

"Come on," Jack was saying, and the back doors opened. They all moved to get out and the three from Torchwood formed a sort of barrier around the two men to walk them over to a small pub on the side of the road. Jack was behind them this time, his heavy footfalls following them all the way to a booth in the corner. "Sit."

Sherlock and John sat, though the doctor could feel his companion bristle at being ordered about. Gwen slid in after Sherlock and Jack while Ianto took the seat opposite.

"This is very quaint," Sherlock commented idly, giving the place a lazy glance before it settled on Jack with an unnerving sharpness. "Any particular reason you choose this place of the seventeen we passed?"

Jack tried not to look surprised at Sherlock's knowing the exact number and he shrugged one shoulder. "It's private," he said and his smile wasn't overly pleasant. "And I know the owner." He settled against the back of the seat, ignoring John as he took in Sherlock, correctly assuming that the dark haired man was the perpetrator of the searches. "So how do you and Ianto know each other?" he asked conversationally.

"We went to the same university," Ianto answered for the both of them, looking faintly amused by the entire situation. "I should've known you'd be the one to go searching for us. I suppose Mycroft had a hand in diverting your signals?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Always did like to interfere," he replied.

Jack was glancing between the two of them and John was staring at Ianto, wanting very much to ask what Sherlock had been like in his uni days but resisting.

"_Mycroft_?" Jack repeated, looking astounded. "Not - Mycroft Holmes?"

This definitely surprised Sherlock, who sat up a little straighter despite himself, evidently curious. "How'd you know him?" he asked and John could almost feel the irritation coming through the expensive suit; Mycroft had known for ages that Sherlock had been obsessed with finding out where the weird cases went and now it turned out that Torchwood knew him. John suspected that the older Holmes was going to get a very angry visit from his little brother if they survived this meeting.

"I don't _know_ him, per se," Jack said carefully, noting Sherlock's interest. "We've spoken a few times. Negotiated the odd snag here or there." There was more but it was clear that Jack wasn't about to let on and Sherlock's irritation grew into anger, though he kept it well hidden. "And you? How do you know Mycroft Holmes?"

There was an awkward silence where it became clear that Sherlock was not about to answer and Ianto cleared his throat. "Meet Sherlock Holmes," he said, waving a hand towards the detective. Jack gave a delighted, if quiet, laugh.

"No way - you're a Holmes? I should've realised. I've heard your name, actually, it's cropped up a few times - you're a detective, aren't you?" Jack was wondering how he'd never made the connection between the Holmes names before; they were both weird enough to stand out but they had always appeared on completely different cases. Mycroft tended to get involved when something alien had occurred and the London police were getting too involved for their own good. The name Sherlock Holmes tended to appear when there was a crime that the police couldn't solve or a crime that they needed solved quickly. It would not do to underestimate this man; Jack couldn't recall much of what he'd read on the odd report involving this man but he knew enough to understand that Retconning him was going to be a lot harder than he'd originally bargained for.

"I am," Sherlock confirmed. "The world's only consulting detective, in fact, and your little team has been taking my cases from me. I want them back."

"_Your_ cases?" Jack frowned across at Gwen, his expression a question, and she shrugged back at him looking just as lost. "What cases?"

"The string of bodies found headless last year?" Sherlock said, a tad aggressively. "I was following that case; Lestrade was on it but he was waiting to give it to me and he wouldn't say why. I knew there was something funny about it but of course by the time I actually tried to get hold of the files everything was just _gone_ - someone else had taken it. It was _my_ case." John was frowning; he remembered the articles in the paper - five bodies had been found and not a trace of the killer when suddenly the story had disappeared from the headlines and hadn't been mentioned again. He'd thought it strange at the time but clearly Sherlock had obsessed over it, like he tended to with almost everything that normal people would find creepy or horrifying.

"Case closed," Jack said firmly. "The police should never have gotten hold of that one. A slip on our end."

"Then what about the missing children a few months ago? Fourteen went missing from all over London, each one last seen around nine am and each one never seen again - nothing else to link them together except for their ages. That disappeared too."

"Case closed," Jack repeated. "The children were never found but the culprit was apprehended and dealt with."

"_I_ should have found him!" Sherlock snapped. "That's my _job_."

"It's our job too."

"What about the Blind Man?" The detective's voice was low and his eyes were narrow.

Jack's lips parted in surprise before he frowned. "That was years ago," he said quietly.

"And it had Torchwood written all over it," Sherlock retorted.

"It shouldn't have," Jack said darkly. "I don't know how you found everything that you did - you shouldn't even know the word Torchwood."

Sherlock smirked. John sighed. Ianto seemed to understand.

"Mycroft," he said, glancing sideways at Jack. "He'd have had access to the files from before we took over and he had a hand in some of the cover-ups." The man's eyes swept back to Sherlock and his lips twisted. "He was always a nuisance for working out passwords."

"Tell me about it," John muttered and Sherlock shrugged dispassionately while Ianto laughed.

"So - we need to come to some sort of agreement," Sherlock said with his eyes on Jack.

"This isn't a negotiation," Jack said pointedly.

"Good – I was being polite," Sherlock retorted. "You'll stop taking the cases or the name Torchwood will be everywhere in London by midnight tonight. You'll be celebrities."

Jack's eyebrow arched in genuine amusement. "You think you could do that? We have technology you couldn't even _dream_ of," he said, leaning a little over the table with a gleam in his eye; he was enjoying this, and Sherlock was too. Anything out of the ordinary, anything to break up the monotony of the day – they were drinking it in.

"I think you have no idea what I could do," Sherlock said calmly. "And I think you wouldn't like to find out." Ianto shifted ever so slightly beside Jack; he knew, and John did as well, that Sherlock was a man of his word. If he wanted to plaster Torchwood over the news he would, no matter what it took – that was just Sherlock's way of doing things and Ianto didn't think he would ever change. Torchwood could change the news but they couldn't take back what people already knew and they certainly couldn't Retcon an entire city.

Jack glanced sideways at Ianto, the question in his eyes. Ianto looked across to Sherlock. "He's clever," Ianto said. "Very clever." It was all the answer Jack needed, and the captain ran his tongue over his lower lip, watching Sherlock thoughtfully.

"You want your cases back?" he said with a slow nod. "I get that. But you can't have them – you wouldn't understand."

Sherlock's eyebrows descended into a stiff frown. "Try me."

Jack, again, looked to Ianto for judgement – if the man knew Sherlock, he was the best they had at working out his character, no matter how long ago it had been. "We can trust him, to a point," Ianto said, his eyes on Sherlock before they slid across to Jack and he smiled ever so slightly. "Who would believe the truth if he told it, anyway?"

That, Jack knew, was a very valid point. Besides which, these two would be Retconned anyway. What harm could there be in telling them the truth, even if it was only going to be for a few minutes? The captain leaned forwards a little more, and Sherlock sat up a little straighter, his whole attention on the dark haired man before him. "You want to know the truth? Alright. You can't have those cases because you'd never understand, and you'd never understand because they're not from this world." Jack sat back, his eyes serious despite how crazy his words were. "You can't have them because they're aliens."

**AN: So...it's been a while. I sort of lost muse for this fic and I have no idea where it's going – I'm just playing with it, though I have a vague idea these days. Anyway, I thought I'd stick this chapter up to see if anyone was still interested in reading on and if you have any ideas let me know because I'm drawing up a lot of blanks for this fic!**

**Someone asked about the timeline for this – it's after series 2 Torchwood but with the Sherlock timeline it's a bit vague – after series 1, possibly after the events of Scandal or Hound but most definitely before the Fall. Helpful, I know, but it doesn't really matter – it's just 'some time'. Thanks for reading!**


	5. PLEASE NOTE!

**Hello all!**

**First of all – sorry this isn't a real update, this is a notice to any and all readers who might still have a passing interest in this story; I am moving it over to my main account here on so it will be being removed from here very soon.**

**If you still want to find it (I will be posting it again once it's finished) it will have the same title and synopsis, the same characters and categories, but it will be on my account, username .fire.**

**Thanks to anyone who actually looked at this – it WILL be being reposted and it is being worked on at present.**


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